Nanashi No More
by mumei
Summary: Trowa discovers the sister he never knew he had... shonen ai
1. Default Chapter

Author's Note: This story takes place some undetermined time after Endless Waltz

Author's Note: This story takes place some undetermined time after Endless Waltz. I don't own the concept, etc., of Gundam Wing. A couple of things that I'd like to share with all y'all: 1) for you fans of Trowa as Triton Bloom, sorry. I decided to ignore that possibility. Yes, so sorry, it is only a possibility and not gospel truth. 2) This is shonen-ai. You have now been warned. Oh yes, responses are quite welcome. Now it's about time I give you guys a story….

Nanashi No More

by mumei

He never had a name, or a family, or a place. He was born to be a soldier-- one of the unknown who will die and be buried in the blood-soaked ground. This was his way of life, he knew no other. At one point, he must have had a mother and father, maybe even brothers and sisters, but he did not know them. Maybe he did not want to know, or remember…. 

Trowa awoke with a start, a fine sheen of sweat covered his body. He took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself. But from what? Trowa furrowed his brows, trying to remember just what it was that had frightened him so. Was it a nightmare? No, he didn't dream much. Quatre told him that a person always dreams when they sleep, they just don't always remember it. Trowa smiled--the thought of Quatre always brought a smile to his face. He knew his blonde Arab angel was still working. He seemed to be working later and later these days. He'll be here soon enough, Trowa reminded himself, there is no need to worry. He sighed and turned. He was still tired, and comfortable. Trowa shut his eyes, seeing Quatre's catching smile on the back of his eyelids. With this thought of Quatre, dancing in his head, he went back to sleep. 

Quatre rubbed his eyes as he turned off the computer screen. 

Nothing. Weeks of searching for Trowa's past and he still had nothing. It would help if he could talk to Trowa about it, maybe even get some more detailed information. But Trowa had never been inclined to talk about that subject. Whenever Quatre brought it up, Trowa responded with a silence more deafening and disheartening than usual. 

Quatre was uncertain if Trowa would appreciate his search. As another yawn overtook him, Quatre stumbled into the bedroom. He'd finish it later, but first he needed a small nap…. Within seconds of hitting the bed, Quatre was fast asleep. 

The instant Quatre's light frame fell, Trowa opened his eyes. He turned and looked at the now-sleeping angel in his bed. He clucked softly as he slowly got up and took off Quatre's shoes. He tucked a blanket around him and watched him sleep. 

"What are you doing Little One?" Trowa whispered to the still form. 

As silent as ever, he made his way to the study. Immediately his eyes fell to the computer-- it was still running. Quatre never left it running overnight. Trowa settled himself down in the large leather chair and flipped on the screen. 

A program was slowly searching through old reports and files-- missing children, orphanages, kidnappings…. 

A few more clicks of the mouse showed Trowa the parameters of Quatre's search. 

Male child. Green eyes. Brown/Red hair. Colony L3 or surrounding colonies. Dating between A.C. 188-192. Files with vid/pics preferred. Prioritize. 

"Quatre… what are you doing?" Trowa asked in something akin to disbelief. 

"Looking for you," came the quiet reply from the doorway. 

Trowa didn't tear his eyes away from the computer. 

Quatre couldn't quite bring himself to move forward. "Are you mad?" 

"No, of course not. I couldn't be mad at you. But… why?" 

"After all these years, I thought that it was about time for you to learn something about your past. But you never brought it up, you never tried. I guess I got curious too. I wondered what life was like for you as a child. I thought that maybe if I found something…." 

"Shh. It's alright. I'm not mad," Trowa said again. Quatre was babbling, and he only did that when he was scared. And it took a lot to make Quatre scared. 

"Quatre, I want you to promise me something." 

"Anything. What is it?" Quatre asked. 

"I don't want to you search anymore." 

Quatre hung his head, "I promise. I won't search for your past." 

"And no getting anyone else to do it for you." 

Quatre nodded. Trowa knew him too well to leave loose ends. 

"Now, you need to go back to sleep." 

Usually Quatre would have protested, but not tonight. Silently he went back into the bedroom and crept into bed. Pulling the covers up to his chin he allowed a single tear to fall onto the pillow before he fell asleep. 

True to his word, Quatre did not search any more. He didn't have to. 

He walked into the kitchen one day after work. It was Friday and Quatre was definitely in the mood for a bit of relaxing. Winner Enterprises always seemed to keep him busy, but this past week…. Quatre forced himself to forget work. This was a weekend, his weekend, and he would enjoy it. Quatre poured himself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the kitchen table. He absently leafed through a book that was sitting there. But Quatre wasn't quite in the mood for reading. He got up and went to the study, his yet-untouched iced tea in hand. 

"Trowa?" Quatre couldn't quite believe his eyes. What was he doing home? He usually stayed at work for another hour or so. And to be sitting in here, in front of a silent computer… it was unheard of. 

"Trowa, is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine." Trowa's voice sounded oddly detached. It wasn't quite his…. 

"Quatre… I had a sister. Catherine."

"Yes I know, from the circus--" 

"No. A real sister." 

Quatre wasn't sure how to respond. A real sister? Could he be serious? Yes, Quatre thought sadly, he was always serious. 

"Trowa, how do you know that?"

"I remember her." 

Quatre was torn. Ever since Trowa regained his memory after his amnesia, he had started to remember little tidbits from his past. However, it was never substantial enough to make serious conclusions. But now, all of a sudden, Trowa claims to remember something this significant? Part of Quatre didn't want to believe this. It was all too radical, too unbelievable. But deep to the root of his being, Quatre trusted Trowa. He knew that Trowa would not lie to him. 

"Okay Trowa, I believe you. What do you remember?" 

"I--I'm not sure," Trowa admitted, looking at his feet. 

Quatre put down his glass and sat on the arm of the chair. He put his arm around the brown haired boy's shoulder. "It's alright," Quatre said, "we'll figure this out." 

Trowa looked over at him. "We? Quatre, this is for me to figure out. It's something that I need to do, you don't." 

"Yes I do. This is important to you, which makes it important for me. I want to help. I want to do whatever I can to help you find out your past. Let me help, please?" 

Trowa knew that he could not resist the Arab, he never could. He gave Quatre a grateful smile. "Thank you Little One," he said leaning into Quatre's supporting arms. 

Quatre studied the latest printout on the efficiency of Winner Enterprises. His neat and precise notes were scribbled in the margins. Suddenly a picture covered the charts and suggestions. He looked up, startled, and saw Trowa. His face was more mask-like than usual and it disturbed Quatre. 

"Is everything all right?" 

Trowa nodded. "That's her." 

Quatre needed only a second to put the pieces together. He looked back down at the photograph in his hand. A young woman stared back at him-- her eyes were a bright jade, and her chestnut colored hair fell freely around her shoulders. She was smiling-- Quatre smiled back, she must smile a lot, he thought to himself. 

He looked back up to Trowa. Quatre could hardly contain his excitement. "Well?" he prompted. 

"I found her from your search. I was going to call her this evening." 

"Why wait until then?"

Trowa was silent. 

"Trowa?"

Trowa didn't want to admit that he was scared. He couldn't be scared, he had to be strong… no he didn't have to be, but he wanted to be. It was easier to be strong, unhampered by emotions. 

"Trowa, why don't you want to call her now?" Quatre insisted, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He knew why, he could see the fear in Trowa's eyes. But Trowa had to admit it too…. 

"I'll see you tonight Quatre," Trowa answered. 

Quatre sighed in resignation. "Alright, I'll see you at home. I'll probably be home late again." 

Trowa nodded, and left. 

Long after he left, Quatre sat and stared at the picture Trowa had left. 

"Who are you?" he asked the smiling woman. Sadly, he shook his head. Quatre rose from his desk. Putting the picture and a large stack of work related papers in his leather case, he phoned the secretary. 

"Hello? Mary?" he said. 

"Yes Mr. Winner, what can I do for you?"

"I need to you cancel my 4:30 appointment and forward any important information to my private inbox. I'm leaving for the day, something has come up." 

"Yes sir, Mr. Winner, I'll do what I can." 

"Thank you." 

Mary Lewis sighed at her desk. Mr. Winner never took days off. Well, hardly ever. He worked harder than many of his employees. Not that he hired lazy people or anything, Quatre just put his all into his work. Mary sighed again, thinking of the Mr. Barton. He had looked so troubled, yet delighted, when he appeared earlier. I hope everything is okay, Mary thought to herself sadly. Then she pulled herself out of her reverie make the appropriate arrangements for her boss's absence. 

Trowa sat at the kitchen table. He had spent the past twenty minutes pushing his dinner around on his plate and staring at the telephone. The cordless receiver stared back, silent and unused. 

I need to make that call, Trowa thought for the billionth time that day, if I don't I'll always regret it. But what if she's not…. 

The phone rang. 

It rang again. 

Trowa picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi. Um, is Andy Brooks available?" came the reply. 

"I'm sorry but you must have the wrong number." 

"Are you sure? No, wait, sorry, of course you're sure. Is this 489-9239?"

Trowa paused a moment, "Yes, that is our phone number. But there is no one named Andy here?" 

The sigh that came from the other end of the phone was short, but full of sadness. "I'm sorry, I was given this phone number along with a message that my brother, Andy, lived there. Sorry to bother you, it must have been a prank." 

"Your brother?"

"Yes," came the hesitant reply. 

"Who was the message from?" 

"I don't think that is any of your business mister--" 

"Was it from someone named Quatre Winner?" 

"No, and I think that you're being quite rude. Goodbye." 

The line went dead in Trowa's hand. He stared at the phone again. Was that her? He checked the number of the last caller, and hit dial. Impatiently, he waited as it rang. And rang. And rang. 

"Hello? Robinson residence, Cathy speaking," came the voice that had hung up on him a moment ago. 

"Hello? Catherine?" 

"Yes? Can I… wait a minute, aren't you the busybody who just tried to--"

For the second time that night, Trowa interrupted her. "I think you were looking for me. I…I'm your brother." 

There was silence on the other end. "Andy? Is it really… is it really you?" 

Trowa nodded, then remembered that he was on the phone. "Yes, yes it's me." A small smile played at his lips. 

"Oh Andy… I've got so much to tell you, to ask you. I don't know where to start. I guess… how are you?" 

"Good." 

"That's it? Come on, there's got to be more to it than that?"

"Well--"

"Oh my g--, Andy, I'll have to call you back. Something just came up, Jackie just… can I meet you tomorrow? I know you're here on Earth. If it's possible, could you stop by my place around three? It's 4691 Brighton Drive, Arden, California . Can you make it?" Cathy sounded hurried, but not impatient. 

"Yes, I'll be there." 

"Thanks. Love you," she said softly. Then there was silence once again.


	2. chapter 2

Trowa stood on the doorstep for an eternity waiting for his knock to be answered. He heard footsteps and the sound of a lock being turned. Slowly, the door opened. A little boy of about five stood there. Trowa bent down on one knee, "Is your mother home?" 

The little boy surveyed him with cautious eyes. After a moment, he grinned at Trowa. "Yep, you wanna come in?" 

Trowa smiled back and shook his head. "That's okay, but could you go and get her for me?" 

The little boy nodded, and ran through the house. From the open doorway, he could hear the shouts of "Mooom!" echoing. In a minute, a woman came to the door. She was at least thirty-five, with strands of gray in her dark brown hair. She looked him over, a puzzled look on her face. "Can I help you?" she finally asked. 

Trowa's casual look turned to puzzled as well. This couldn't be his sister, could it? "I'm looking for Catherine, is she home?" 

The woman's face went pale. "Catherine isn't here anymore, she… may I ask who you are?" 

"I'm… I'm her brother." 

The woman's eyes went wide, "Oh you poor boy…." 

"What? What is it?" Trowa asked, growing concerned. 

"Please, come inside. Where are my manners," she said, ushering him down the hall. "Can I get you something to drink?" she continued absently. 

"No, no thank you. Where is Catherine? I was supposed to meet her here. Do you have a forwarding address?" 

"Please sit down," she said, settling in an old rocking chair. Trowa did as he was told. 

"Catherine was in a car accident last night. I thought that they would have called you, seeing as how you are her relative and all…. "

"Is she alright?" Trowa asked, afraid of what she might answer. 

The woman hung her head, she spoke in barely a whisper, "She's in a coma. They don't expect her to make it much longer." 

Trowa nodded, his hope of finding his family was dying in a hospital. "Do you know where she is now?" 

"In the county hospital. Down on Bradley Street. Room 126. You may want to hurry." 

Trowa nodded, "Thank you. I think I'll be going now." 

The woman nodded back, "I'll show you the way out." 

Trowa was too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice the small blonde boy following him down the streets of Arden. If he had noticed, he would have seen a look of concern and worry that creased the boy's face. But instead, his shadow followed--silent down to his footsteps crushing the fallen leaves. 

Why her? Why now? God, or fate, or whatever controlled this, sure had some sense of timing. Trowa's thoughts battered him while he walked. 

In almost no time, Trowa was there, standing impatiently while a nurse checked data on the computer terminal. 

"I'm sorry sir, but no one is allowed to see her," she told him. 

"You don't understand. She's my sister. I haven't seen her in years, please…." 

The nurse looked coldly at him, she didn't realize just what those tears in his eyes meant. "Sir, there is no record of a brother. I'm afraid that I can't allow--"

"What is going on here Nancy?" 

The nurse turned, ready to explain to the suddenly present doctor the situation. She never got the chance. 

"Please, I've got to see a patient of yours, her name is Catherine. Catherine Brooks. She's my sister. I've been looking for her, and I want to see her before…." 

The doctor gave him a cold look-- quite similar to the one the nurse had used earlier-- and spoke: "She's in room 126. Go on. I don't think she has too much longer." 

Trowa nodded and took off down the hall. 

When he was gone, the nurse stared. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" 

"Catherine doesn't have any family, but that boy believes what he's saying. Besides, what could it hurt?" he said with a shrug, before heading back to his duties. 

The nurse shook her head, she didn't think was a good idea, not a good idea at all. 

She wasn't pale, but there was something missing from her tan. Starched hospital sheets held her captive. Her hair couldn't hide the long lacerations running near her temples. The edge of a large ugly bruise peeked from the sleeve of her gown, and more lacerations covered her arms. 

Trowa stood for a minute, trying to get his emotions under control. This was his sister, his own flesh and blood-- his only flesh and blood left-- and now she lay so still. He pulled a chair from near the wall to her bedside. He sat there, helpless and alone. 

"Talk to her." 

Trowa turned to the speaker standing in the doorway. Quatre. 

Quatre gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and continued. "I'm going to wait outside now, if you need me I'll be waiting there for you. Talk to her, I know she can hear you." 

Trowa turned back to the still body as Quatre left him. 

"Catherine…" his usually strong voice was hesitant. "It's me, your brother. I go by the name of Trowa now. Trowa Barton." He smoothed a few wisps of hair back from her face, then took her hand in his. 

"I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you will ever wake up. There's so much that I wanted to ask you, so much that I wanted to know. I am sure there's a lot that you wanted to know about me. I can't ask you questions now, but I can try to answer yours. I only hope that you can hear me and understand. 

"I was in the last war. I piloted a Gundam, Heavyarms. I'm a soldier Catherine. I have been one as long as I can remember. Even now my job isn't very far removed from the battlefield. There is far more paperwork than I ever had to file though. But I'm happy with my life Catherine. I spent so many years living devoid of my emotions that I almost missed my chance…. I wish you would wake up, so I could ask you the many questions I have, so I could see your smile, your eyes…." 

Trowa blinked back the tears that he would not cry. "I don't remember my past Catherine. I don't remember our parents, or where we lived. The only real memory I have left is of you. We were playing in a field and got separated. I couldn't find you anywhere, so I started crying. Immediately you were by my side. You wiped my tears away and told me that I didn't have to cry. That you would be there, and protect me, forever." 

"Trowa…." The sound was barely more than breath-- but it was his name all the same. 

Trowa looked to see bright green eyes staring back at him.


	3. chapter 3

Quatre knocked on the door to their room. Even though Trowa didn't say anything, he knew that it was all right to come in. Trowa sat at the desk, piles of papers and files surrounded him. 

"Trowa, a package came for you. From Mrs. Robinson. She said that… that Catherine would have wanted you to have it." 

At the mention of her name, Trowa turned to face the door. Quatre could tell by his lover's eyes that he hadn't slept a wink, and that the work around him was a façade. 

Trowa got up, took the box and sat down on the bed. He just sat and stared until Quatre came over and put his arm around Trowa's shoulders. 

"I don't know if I want to open it, " Trowa said, never taking his eyes off the box. 

"Go on," Quatre prompted, "It'll all be fine. I promise." 

"Will you stay?" 

Quatre nodded. Trowa took a deep breath to steady himself and opened it. On the top was a note. 'Andrew, these are some of your sister's things. I am sure that she would have wanted you to have them. I am sorry for your loss, please take care. Tracy Robinson' 

Trowa could feel his resolve begin to falter. The small blonde tightened his arms around Trowa, his chin rested on his shoulder. "It's okay Trowa, if you don't want to do it now that's fine." 

Trowa put the note aside and reached back in the box, pulling its contents out and onto the bed. 

There were dozens of pictures-- family pictures, presumably, each one had carefully recorded notes on the back. A large manila envelope bulged with letters, and papers, and colored pictures. There was also a small stuffed cat, a pair of keys, two black journals and a videotape. 

Quatre shuffled through the pictures. That was Trowa? Quatre couldn't quite believe it. The little boy in the picture didn't look anything like Trowa. The child was standing under a tree, wearing a bright green shirt which accented his eyes-- but there was something not quite right about it. The bangs were still long and the eyes had not changed color, and all of his features were there, but still…. The smile, Quatre decided finally, that isn't Trowa's smile. 

Trowa could hardly see the pictures and letters. His eyes were filled with tears. This was all that was left of his past now-- the past of Andrew Brooks. Still, he fingered each of them gently, carefully, as if they might turn to dust at his touch. 

Quatre touched him gently on the arm, breaking Trowa out of his trance. "There's a video, do you want to watch it now?" 

Trowa nodded his head dumbly. He didn't trust himself to speak. 

A young woman-- about 25-- appeared on the television screen. Her chestnut hair fell past her shoulders, and her green eyes were twinkling. 

"Well, I just got your message today Andy. Or do you want to be called Andrew now? I dunno. I'll guess I'll have to ask you that when I see you. I hope you're still Andy, Andrew just sounds too formal for you. You never were that formal." She face lit up in a grin, a smile so familiar to him… how did he know that smile? Trowa wasn't sure and he wouldn't waste time trying to place it, at least not now. Catherine's voice continued, drifting through the room. 

"I can't believe it. I really can't believe it. After all these years… what have you been doing? I always have thought that you became a chef, or maybe an acrobat. Goodness knows you should have been with all of those cartwheels and backflips you used to do. Do you remember that time when you tried to do a hundred cartwheels? You broke mother's best vase-- then told her that it jumped in your way? Those were the days, weren't they? I wonder why you waited so long before calling me? Have you been gone? Busy with something important? I've missed you…." The grin faded from her face, her eyes became sad as she continued. 

"I suppose things probably have changed a bit in these past 15 years. I remember you as a goofy little brother, always getting in trouble. And getting me in trouble. You were always such a prankster. But so kind too. You never took it too far… I do hope you are as kind as you were back then. Are you in love I wonder?" Her eyes regained their sparkle. "Let's see, I imagine you and a little blonde… small, petite, and as good looking as you. She's very kind and… the two of you just hang all over each other. I'm sure it's sickening to watch you two in public…." She smile swallowed her face. From where he sat, Trowa had to smile back. "Yup, I'm sure you've chosen someone spectacular… and whoever it is, I think you should…hmmm… marry her. Yes that's it. Waste no time. Goodness knows I have. Don't be the same as me Andy. I've wasted far too much time and energy on meaningless stuff. I hope that you are making every moment count." Suddenly, she started giggling. "I can't believe I'm really babbling like this to a video camera. But I am so excited to see you, I just… I have to get some it out. If I don't, I think I might just explode. And it just wouldn't do for me to turn into a pile of goo when you are actually coming. Well… I guess I should go to bed now. Talk to you soon Andy, this time in person." 

The pent-up tears slid down Trowa's cheeks. That was his sister. That was the last time he would ever hear her voice, or see her smile. His insides ached to see that smile again-- this time in real life. Warm arms encircled him, holding him close. Trowa heard the slow and steady rhythm of a heartbeat, and felt strong hands rubbing his back, stroking his hair. 

Quatre planted a kiss on the top of Trowa's head, but said nothing. When Trowa wanted to talk, he would. Until then, Quatre would do what he could without words. 

Fortunately Quatre didn't have to wait long. 

"I never got to know her, Quatre. I never got to do any of the things… I just wanted to know. To be a part of something bigger, something better. To be normal. I don't know what it's like to have a family, or to be comforted and loved like that. I just wanted to know…." 

Quatre tightened his arms around Trowa's lean frame. "Trowa, you've always had family. Maybe not biological, but there have always been people who have loved you and cared for you-- not for any other reason than because it was you. And you got to be part of something special-- you won a war." Quatre smiled sadly as he absently stroked Trowa's hair. "At least you got to know her. You got the chance to see her and talk to her before--"

"I was too late. If only I would have started searching sooner…." 

"What's done is done. You can't do anything about that now. You have to live for the future, not the past." Quatre released Trowa from his arms, and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. Quatre smiled, "Everything will be fine. It will take time, but I know you will make it. Let me help if I can?" 

Trowa smiled back and nodded. He was too distracted to speak. There on the face of his lover was that same smile-- the smile of his sister, a smile of unrequited love


End file.
